by Susan Slater
“What are you doing?” Julie was almost beside him before he saw her.
“Tire swing repair. One of those things I promised myself I’d do before I left again.” He saw Julie look away. He wanted to say, “You could come with me,” but didn’t. Instead, he tried to focus on the morning ahead of them.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“A little. I worked on a list of questions. I’ll keep things general. See what happens. I don’t want to risk sending him to the hospital again. Is the appointment still on for nine-thirty?”
“Mary put it on his calendar.”
“Guess I’d better get going. I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” Julie said.
“Can I count on you to give this contraption a trial run?”
Ben held up a shiny new black rubber tire. “It’ll be done by the time you get back.”
“Sure. Why not?”
Ben liked to hear her laugh.
+ + +
Julie sat in the reception area and watched two repairmen carrying oblong panes of glass into the governor’s office.
“It’ll be a couple more minutes,” Mary said. “They’re fixing the bookcases. Could I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” Julie hesitated, then turned to Mary. “Mary, did you support the building of a casino on Indian land?”
“No. I hate the idea. Too much change. Outsiders will crowd into our village every day soon, not just at feast days.”
“Who wanted the casino?”
“People who would get money for it.”
Julie was about to ask another question when Johnson appeared in the doorway to his office and nodded to Mary.
“You can go in now,” she said.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me.” Julie took a chair across the desk from Johnson. The workmen were gathering their tools. One man plugged in a Dustbuster and vacuumed the area. Johnson and Julie waited. The new glass doors reflected a tree, almost without leaves now, and wisps of high cirrus clouds—the view from a west window, the only one in the office.
“Governor Yepa,” Julie began as the workmen left the room, “I would like to ask a few questions about the new casino being built here in Tewa.” She acknowledged his nod before going on.
“What made you decide to go with Class III gambling and not start with Class II like other tribes?”
“The opportunity was made available for my people to benefit greatly from high stakes gambling. We have, I believe you say, ‘on the drawing board,’ three major projects. An eight-bed hospital and clinic, a library, and an elementary school. These will all employ our local people, as will the casino.”
Julie thought his answer sounded rehearsed. Johnson was leaning back in his chair and towered a good two inches above her. She fought the urge to peek under the desk to see if his feet touched the floor. Could they be resting on a footstool or box? He must have that chair cranked up as far as it would go.
“What safeguards do you have in place to protect your interests from being taken over by organized crime?” Julie thought Johnson looked surprised. She wasn’t sure where this line of questioning would take her, but it was an important consideration. One of national concern lately.
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me quote from the treasury secretary, ‘Indian casinos are an attractive target for money laundering and other criminal endeavors.’ Two weeks ago, Ted Turner announced that he didn’t think there was any casino on Indian land that didn’t have mafia ties.”
“We’ve used a local investment group as consultants on our project. There is no hint of any wrongdoing. The group is very well established and quite close to the governor of New Mexico.”
“What is the name of the group?” Julie asked as she watched Johnson begin to rummage through a stack of envelopes and papers.
“Anderson and Anderson, Inc. Here.” Johnson emptied a manila envelope onto the desk spilling out several 8x10 glossy photos. “There’s the governor and yours truly.”
Johnson seemed pleased at his celebrity status. Julie leaned forward and held the picture to the light. A smiling Johnson in a tuxedo stood between New Mexico’s governor and his wife.
“Here’s a picture of Mr. Anderson.” Johnson slid the photo toward Julie.
Again, there was Johnson standing next to a man with one arm around Johnson and the other around the shoulders of Bob Crenshaw. Julie looked closer. That was the same man who had been in Bob’s office last week. What part did Bob have in all this? He could be an investor. Or just a friend of this Anderson person.
“Where were these pictures taken?”
“At Douglas Anderson’s house in Santa Fe. It was a celebration for the opening of the casino.”
Julie looked briefly at pictures of a euphoric Johnson flanked by long-legged chorus girls, their breasts touching his head as they leaned in to frame the shot. Another photo showed laughing people around a piano, then there was one of the governor of the state dancing with his wife, and one last photo showing Douglas Anderson, Bob Crenshaw and state legislators piling food on their plates from a buffet table with a fountain centerpiece.
“Do you know this man?” Julie pointed to Bob.
“Yes.” Julie thought Johnson seemed reluctant to elaborate.
“Is he a member of the investment group?”
Johnson shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so.” Julie waited but he didn’t offer further comment.
“Had you met this man before the night of the party?”
Johnson started to say something and then nodded. Julie noticed that sweat, caught in his hairline, was about to trickle down his forehead.
“Has Mr. Crenshaw ever visited the pueblo?” Julie thought Johnson tried to conceal a look of terror as his glance darted from her face back to the pictures on the desk. He’s scared to death of Bob, Julie thought.
How odd.
“I think he came once to see the building progress.” Johnson abruptly stood or rather hopped down from his perch, Julie noted. “You must excuse me now. My council is meeting at ten o’clock.”
+ + +
“You’re back early.” Ben was waiting by the tire swing.
“It was interesting. I found out the name of the investment group acting as consultants for the casino—Anderson and Anderson, Inc. of Santa Fe. Bob Crenshaw is also a member of the investment group. Or, at least, I think he is.”
“Your boss?”
“Yes. The really interesting thing is Johnson seemed scared to death of him.”
“Any reason?”
“There was nothing apparent. He cut the interview short after I questioned him about Bob.” Julie paused. “You know I haven’t seen the casino site for awhile. Could we take a look?”
“As long as we stay out of the way of workmen. You’ll be surprised. It’s coming along quickly,” Ben said.
Two eighteen wheelers, parked across from one another, squeezed the dirt road down to one lane just before a sweep of asphalt widened to connect with the parking lot. Julie gazed at the unmarked black expanse broken by large aluminum stumps, electrical outlets, holding capped wires coiled in their centers. Eventually, stork-like poles would tower overhead.
“How many lights will there be?” Julie thought she had counted twenty-four oval breaks in the paving.
“Enough to light this sucker up for miles,” Ben said.
“Would it be all right to take a closer look?”
“Probably. Somebody will tell us if it isn’t.”
Two hundred cars could fit easily on this lot, Julie thought, as they walked up the long driveway that curved around the building to the back. Other open areas, four and five feet across in irregular shapes, had been curbed and slightly elevated. Must be for trees or shrubs. They would dot the otherwise sterile surface with life. As they neared the front, the massive height of the entrance now only framed and covered with plywood loomed up and outward hinting of a thirties look to come.
“What do you think th
at is?” Julie pointed to a twenty-four foot wide basin dug out and lined with plastic.
“I think someone said a fountain. This is some sort of holding-pool base.”
“Unbelievable.” Julie moved toward the double-wide opening that would be the door. “Look at the size of this. Everything seems so grandiose.”
She moved into an open area with electric outlets stubbed in, coming up through the cement slab at three foot intervals.
“Slot machines?” she asked.
“Probably. Looks like there will be five rows of ten.”
Areas of the room would be raised above the main floor. Other kinds of gaming would go on there, she guessed.
As she wandered toward the back, she looked up at the high ceilings. Now only a suggestion of grandeur as beams and braces domed upward into the clear blue sky.
“There is nothing small about any of this, is there?”
“And nothing cheap,” Ben said.
At the back, Julie found the kitchen. And to the right, a room that looked like it would be closed off to form a dining area.
“Did you know there was going to be a restaurant?”
“No. But nothing surprises me.” Ben inspected an area that would eventually be restrooms and a lounge.
“I’m going to take a look out back.” Ben followed Julie through the kitchen and back to a curve of asphalt that led to a cupola-topped small building on the side.
“What do think that is? It looks like some kind of gazebo.”
Julie thought its architecture a little garish. But then, it would probably blend in just fine.
“Valet station, I think.”
“Is there anything they’ve missed?” Julie walked around it and looked inside. She stood for a minute looking first at the framed structure with its valet station like a side-kick, then past the construction and paved-over field to the river and mountains. Nothing had ever seemed so out of place. The building’s rambling largeness appeared awkward, gangly, a self-conscious effort at beauty but knowing it had already lost.
“Seen enough?” Ben asked.
“Yes. I need to be getting back.”
“Another raincheck on testing the tire swing?” He was grinning. “I’m amassing a stack of those.” He fell in beside her as they walked back across the immense parking lot.
“What’s our next move?”
“I’ll try to get some information on Anderson and Anderson. And maybe I’ll follow up with a piece warning New Mexico about how a casino like this could be a sitting duck for organized crime. It was apparent that Johnson had never given it a thought.”
+ + +
“This is irresponsible journalism. And goddamn lies.”
Bob Crenshaw was pacing up and back in front of his desk, waving a few pages of copy wadded tightly in his fist.
“Nothing in it is presented as fact. At best, it’s a warning. Copy based on conjecture but with real possibilities.” Julie sat at the conference table. “It wouldn’t be the first time organized crime has moved in to take over an unsuspecting group. Johnson Yepa looked absolutely blank when I asked him how the tribe would safeguard themselves against something like that happening.”
“Johnson Yepa is a stupid little man who couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”
“How do you know Johnson?” Julie watched Bob check his pacing and pull up a chair across from her.
“Some business dealings.” A muscle in Bob’s cheek twitched, spasmodically jerked half a dozen times, then subsided.
“That would include the current casino under construction, right?”
“And if it did?”
“Then, I’m talking to the right person. Casinos, as cash-intensive businesses, offer all kinds of opportunities for money laundering. Indian gaming is producing annual revenues of almost six billion dollars now.”
“You have nothing to base these accusations on.” Bob appeared to be fighting to control his temper. His jaw was clamped tight, as if to stop the tic which was twitching the muscle in front of his ear.
“I’m not accusing. I’m offering a warning. A wake-up call to the legislators in Santa Fe that if they’re not on their toes, potentially the biggest money-maker in the state could become corrupt. And before they even know it. It took Nevada forty years to weed out organized crime from their casinos.”
“That won’t happen here. You must be aware of the Federal Indian Gaming Commission?”
Julie ignored his snideness.
“That’s another good point. The commission is understaffed and wouldn’t know a godson of Vito Genovese’s if he walked up to shake hands. They’re babes in the woods.” Julie paused and decided to appeal to his instinct for timeliness. “Besides, the hearings of the House Native American Affairs subcommittee on legalized gambling on Indian land are beginning this week. We should have some comment.” Julie waited while Bob stared at the table. When he looked up, she caught her breath and reflexively moved her chair back. His face was contorted with anger. Red splotches highlighted his cheeks; his lips pulled tight against his teeth.
“You’re a fool. A green, two-bit, hot shot journalist who looks good on camera. A dime a dozen.” He leaned closer. “Don’t forget who made you. I gave you your chance. Gave you the Hantavirus story. I can give and I can take away.”
Julie prayed that her knees wouldn’t buckle as she stood.
“Is that a threat?” She hoped her voice sounded coolly detached.
“Yeah, you might say so.” He seemed to master his anger and draped a leg over the side of the chair. “Don’t overstep your boundaries, kiddo.”
She gathered the crumpled copies of her story and started to pick them up. Bob’s fist came down hard on her hand, pinning it to the table.
“I think those are mine.” He picked up the papers and moved to the trash basket by his desk. “This is where this story belongs, and this is where it’s going to stay.”
All Julie could think of was getting out of Bob’s office. No wonder Johnson had seemed afraid of him. He could be a monster. Heads turned toward her, then quickly away as she walked back to her cubicle. They must have heard the shouting. She grabbed her purse, put on some lipstick, then continued down the hall to the elevators. She’d take a drive, get some lunch, think. She’d struck a chord. Why had Bob reacted so violently?
The heavy basement door to the underground parking stuck and required her leaning a shoulder into it and pushing before it released. The Miata was around the corner in a space for compacts. Fumbling for her keys, Julie didn’t see Bob Crenshaw leaning against the trunk until she was almost on top of him.
“It’s okay, kiddo, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was off base upstairs. I shouldn’t attack your journalism. It’s just that the station’s a couple points down in the ratings this month and I don’t want to take any chances with something that might get people in an uproar. Scare ’em. Get everyone running around yelling mafia. Guess you might say I’m just a little over zealous in protecting my investment. Can you understand that?”
Julie didn’t say anything.
“Hey, let’s be friends. You know I think you’re one of the biggest talents in Albuquerque.” Bob opened the car door for her. “The next anchor spot is yours. Cross my heart, just for you, it already has your name on it.”
Julie was trying to sort through her feelings. Distrust topped the list. This schizoid, who was yelling at her five minutes ago, now wanted to patch things up. Bribe her to forget his outburst. Somewhere inside, her instincts were telling her to go along.
“All right, I can accept an apology.”
“I knew you had some smarts, besides those good looks. You’re back on the team; hell, you’ll soon be leading the team. How’s that?”
Julie nodded, tossed her purse into the convertible and slipped behind the wheel. She didn’t watch Bob leave but felt relieved when she heard the basement door thud shut.
+ + +
Elephant Butte was one of those lakes that spread for miles alo
ng the highway, sending inquisitive fingers of water exploring along stretches of flat land, poking its edges into places where it shouldn’t be. The lake was full for this time of year. The marshes that followed the outer boundaries of moisture were closer to the highway. Cattails, now brittle and bursting, trailed puffs of white seeds as they gently tossed and bounced off one another in the wind.
Johnson stopped at the bait shop for supplies and ice. He had come down for the weekend. Maybe the last nice weekend before a cold snap. If you could believe TV weather people, there would be a barometric dip on Monday. He pulled a shopping basket from the stack by the door and started down the first aisle.
Five bags of Cheetos, a loaf of white Wonder bread, Velveeta, Vienna sausages, mayonnaise, two packages of spice cupcakes and a liter of Seven-Up. What had he forgotten? Plastic utensils and plates.
Johnson moved to a picnic display in the corner. He chose red and white checked plates with cups and napkins to match. Festive. Cheerful. He needed cheering up.
His world was pushing in on him. Even the casino didn’t thrill him anymore. He had dreams where enormous talking pumpkin seeds chased him, yelling curses. In one dream, the seeds tackled a medicine man and trampled him while trying to get to Johnson.
His wife asked him to sleep on the spare bed in the sewing room. His outbursts and nightly sweats scared her. But he refused to see a doctor. He knew what it was. He had angered the spirits.
He had never meant the plan to get out of hand. He thought the spirits would have excused him killing an old man who stood in the way of helping so many. But when Peter Tenorio and his fiancée died, and Jennifer, he knew his days would be numbered.
He had expected the warnings. The cleansing rite had not been strong enough to stop them from coming for him. The ritual had been too late. He heard the old man’s voice chanting, “Some can be valiant in death; leaders remembered for their bravery.” Was he hinting that Johnson already knew what he had to do? Take the necessary action to fill the cemetery once and for all? Sacrifice his own life—